


An accidental inevitability

by BeNearMeWhenMyLightIsLow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentions of Mary, Omega John, Omega Verse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeNearMeWhenMyLightIsLow/pseuds/BeNearMeWhenMyLightIsLow
Summary: What happens after Sherlock saves John from death by replacing John's broken bond.





	

Sherlock was annoyed  
John could see it in the flicker of his eyes, the rigidness of his posture and even feel it in the back of his mind.

Not good.

And also very unfair. It was hardly John's fault that this had happened. Well alright, maybe a little but all that biting stuff truly had nothing to do with him, he hadn’t even been conscious for that part!

John blinked.

And then there was Mary. Poor, dead Marry who had been holding a gun to his head. Obviously he knew that she didn’t really loved him and that their bond had been artificial, at least on Mary’s part. But god damn it, it still hurt! He had loved her, truly loved her! And although those feelings have long since shriveled away, the loss of their bond brought them all back with painful clarity.

He blinked again and felt how Sherlock's gaze shifted to him instead of throwing murderous glances at the door through which the young nurse had escaped. The agitated feeling in the back of John's head paused for a moment and then renewed with a vigor when Sherlock looked back at the door. This time giving even more expression of his agitation by tapping his foot menacingly.

‘It’s not my fault.’ John feels it’s necessary to say it out loud, again.

Sherlock ignores him.

‘It isn’t!’ John presses on firmly.  
In the blink of an eye Sherlock is towering above his bed. ‘So it’s mine then, is it?’ He rumbled threateningly.  
‘I didn’t say that!’  
‘You inferred it.’  
‘No I didn’t! Besides, you inferred it was my fault first!.’  
‘Idiot!’ Sherlock hissed and turned away again to pace hauntedly in front of the door.

John huffed and settled back against the headboard of the hospital bed. The whole room stinks. It’s the upcoming heat, it makes the scent of antiseptic suddenly unbearable to his sensitive nose. Funny, that.

‘The sooner we get home the better.’ He mumbles, gaining an odd look from the pacing detective. ‘Wat?’  
Sherlock licks his lips and opens his mouth, closing it immediately again and sniffing the air. ‘Lestrade is here.’  
On cue the door opens and an awkward-looking Lestrade steps cautiously through the door. He nods. ‘How's it going John?’  
‘Fine.’ Unconsciously he crosses his arms before his chest. And no sooner than when he started the movement, Sherlock was standing between him and Lestrade.  
Lestrade holds up his hands placatingly. ‘Just here to take your statement boys and see how John's doing, then I’ll be on my way.’  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and snorts. ‘Surely you can figure out what happened on your own.’  
‘Just following procedure Sherlock, which is my job you know?’  
‘Alright ladies,’ John intersects before a full argument can develop. ‘Here’s what happened Lestrade: Mary threatened to kill me and held a gun to my head…’  
John had actually planned to just give a short statement and be done with it but now he found a mysterious object had settled in his throat and prevented him to speak another word.  
‘Marry was going to shoot, I shot her first.’ Sherlock concludes swiftly.  
Lestrade cleared his throat. ‘Yes, and after that?’  
Sherlock growles. ‘Fine!’ Her burst out waving his hands about to emphasize just how much he doesn’t want to talk about it. ‘John collapsed when his bondmate died, I was the only unbounded Alpha in the vicinity and… acted on instinct.’ Sherlock makes a face that suggest “instinct” is an abnormally vulgar word and John can’t help but snicker behind his back.  
‘And now you're bonded.’ Lestrade finishes, eyes flickering between the two.  
‘Yes, yes, now leave.’ Sherlock shoved rudely.  
Lestrade looked at John for help but John just shrugged. To be honest he’d rather have the detective inspector leave as well.

 

-Back at 21B Baker Street-

 

‘Right then.’ John says while he hangs up his coat and heads for the kitchen, breathing in the combined scent of him and Sherlock, much better. ‘Tea?’  
‘Yes please.’ Comes the docile reply while the detective is concentrating to make sure his scarf hangs perfectly even on the hook.  
‘Right.’ As he waits for the kettle to boil John makes a quick survey of the food in the house. He’s quite sure that there’s more in the pantry and fridge then when they last were here, two days ago. Misses Hudson no doubt, he mustn't forget to thank her.

He finishes of the tea and carries two mugs into the sitting room where Sherlock is draped over the couch an arm thrown over his face to hide it from view. And perhaps hide from John’s scent as well.  
John can’t really smell it himself but Sherlock’s reactions in the hospital and cab tells him all he needs to know. His heat is imminent. The light fluttering in his stomach is also a dead give away. Soon his clothes will feel constricting and the cramps will truly set in and then… Then they’ll...

‘So now what?’

No answer comes from the pile of detective. John taps him impatiently with his foot.

‘We do need to talk about this you berk.’  
‘Why, what can we possibly talk about. You made your point already John.’  
‘And what point would that be?’ John takes a sip of his tea and leans back into his seat. Not at all perturbed by the cryptic answer of his flatmate. Or maybe bondmate is a better discription now.

Sherlock swirles upright and takes a deep gulp of tea, fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts texting.  
‘I’ll leave as soon as I found lodgings, far enough for the bond to break. How long does it take for you to get back to normal?’  
‘You’re leaving?’  
‘Obviously.’  
‘Why?’

Sherlock looks up with a frown, confusion briefly flitting across his sharp features. ‘So the bond can break.’  
Promptly he’s back to texting and falls down with his back to the room. As far away from John as he can get, without actually leaving the couch.

John stares.  
It takes a moment for his brain to kick back into gear, but it’s alright, he can blame that on heat-hormones. ‘And what point did I make exactly to make this happen?’  
A long silence follows but John allows it. He knows by Sherlock’s slight squirming that he’ll answer… eventually.

‘You said it wasn’t your fault.’  
Came the grumbled answer spoken against a pillow.  
‘Yes. So what? It wasn’t’ John bristles lightly.  
A tortured groan references John’s stupidity. ‘Fault John!’ Comes Sherlock's responds with his face safely turned toward the back of the couch. ‘Fault means that you don’t…’

‘You think I don’t want this?’  
‘Do you?’  
‘Well I…’ Now it’s John’s turn to squirm. “I… Don’t want to be unbonded again.”

He didn’t, he really didn’t. Not just because of the awkwardness. The way he constantly had to prove himself, the way he was forced to either tolerate pain or act like a whore in front of alphas he generally didn’t know for much longer than his heat. All of that was bad enough. But Sherlock… How many bloody times had he wished he’d bonded to Sherlock before the fall. He would have known Sherlock was alive then, and if he wasn’t, at least he would have died with him. He wasn’t ready to let Sherlock go again.

Sherlock’s grip tightens on his phone and his voice is a low growl as he answers without looking up at John. ‘I’m sure you can find someone else if you desire to do so, you found Mary.’

A low blow. All the more painful because, yes, he had found Mary. And John wasn’t going to apologize for that, even if he had any reason to, which he doesn’t.  
John lets out a deep breath and tries his hardest not to feel emotional, now is not the time. He needs to keep his wits about him, there is too much on the line right now. ‘I’m already bonded.’ He manages to keep back th- ‘you arse.’ Never mind, guess he couldn’t hold that one back.  
‘You can’t leave.’ John’s eyes flicker over Sherlock’s taut frame insecurely. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’ He amends.

‘If you don’t want to.’ Sherlock repeats the words back at him in a mocking tone, he lets his phone fall to the floor as he draws himself up with all the elegance of a stalking hunter. ‘You seem to forget who you’re talking to John.’ Voice grating on John’s nerve as he stands very still now.  
Sherlock’s long fingers pluck his cuppa from his hand and deposits it on the mantlepiece before placing a hand at his throat. Fingers pushing into the fresh bondmark, thumb forcing John’s head up further than comfortably in a strictly submissive gesture. And Jesus fucking Christ if that didn’t just send a wave of overly hot desire down John’s spine, sparking pain and pleasure alike and John lets out an embarrassing soft whine.

John can see just how far Sherlocks pupils are dialated when he hovers over John.

‘I’m still an alpha John. And if I don’t leave right now, you’ll never be able to break the bond.’ He said it with both vehemence and despair but his grip remained tight.

‘Don’t leave.’ Croaked John.

Sherlock's eyes shift uncertainly between John’s, but John stares right back, their breath suspended.  
Then - slowly - John tilts his head even further back, an invitation.

Sherlock forces his breath out with a huff that sounded suspiciously like “fuck it”, although John can’t be too sure when all he hears is the pounding of his blood.  
Sherlock leans in slowly, giving John ample time to move away. Then, with the tip off his nose resting against john’s throat he takes in a deep breath. The warm air tickles John when Sherlock lets the breath go again and nuzzles his neck softly. It’s actually rather endearing and John lets go of the tension in his limbs and tilts his head to take a whiff of Sherlock’s scent for himself.

The scent of ozone, sharp and fresh thrills in the air around Sherlock, the scent you get moments before a summer storm. A wild scent, befitting a powerful alpha.  
Even though John is used to this scent he can’t help but drink it in, so close to its source. Hardly muddled by the base scents of ridiculously expensive shampoo, laundry detergent and the slight stink of the hospital and the cab they took back home.

Johns revery is broken by Sherlock janking his jumper out of the way to expose his shoulder, pulling him out of balance. Quickly he grabs on to Sherlock, arms surrounding him in an embrace. While Sherlock’s own arm wounds tightly around the small of his waist, steadying him.

This time Sherlock moist breath is accompanied by the slight caress of lips with just a hint of tongue. A content hum purrs its way up Sherlock’s throat. Nose and lips and breath travelling from where John's neck meets his shoulder, following his collarbone out and back again to the hollow of his throat. Around the side, under his ear where his slightly swollen glands are producing more and more pheromones in response to the bonding. A barely there nip that makes John’s shoulders jump together, his abdomen tightening on a shudder. Sherlock breathes in deeply enough that John can feel his chest expand against his own.

John swallows, licks his lips, tilts his head just a little bit and… Yes. The first touch of lips a little clumsy and a little moist.  
Sherlock’s eyes are wide open and even more beautiful op close. His gaze tearing John appart and looking at the fragments that remain.  
Tentatively John parts his lips a bit. Sherlock’s eyelids dip down and close as his lips close around John’s bottom lip with light pressure and John is burning. He mewls against Sherlock’s lips and grows bolder, tongue sneaking out, the tip prodding at the seam of Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock’s answering rumble reverberates against John’s lips as he finally responds to the invitation and slots their lips together properly, eyes sliding shut, tongue sliding out.

Sherlock is shy and carefull, not quite what John had imagined. And yes, he had indeed imagined. It makes him think that perhaps Sherlock is a virgin. And it just so happens that John approves of being able to teach Sherlock a thing or two.  
John tightens his grip on Sherlock’s shoulders and pulls them flush against each other. Simultaneously shifting to fit his thigh between Sherlock’s legs. Using his shoulders for purchase, he slowly grinds his thigh against the hardness of Sherlock’s cock. Sucking on Sherlock’s tongue now trapped in John’s mouth.  
Sherlock moans loudly and bends his legs to accommodate Johns slow grind.  
Yes, this will work perfectly.

‘Sherlock?’  
Sherlock seems unwilling to part their lips for too long. Leaning in so his words send ghost touches along John’s lips.  
‘Yes.’  
‘You never actually done this before have you?’ John makes sure it doesn't really sound like a question. Which is a good call because Sherlock’s answering hum vibrates nicely on his lips and John can't resist a quick swipe of his tongue. Followed by a nip. Followed by pointedly licking just on the inside of Sherlock’s parted mouth using only the tip of his tongue. Delighting in the indecent way Sherlock sucks his tongue further inside. A scrape of teeth chasing after him as his tongue retreats.

God, he needs to remind himself that Sherlock, genius that he is, is a very fast learner.

‘Let's go to your bedroom.’ It comes out a little breathy.  
‘Yes John.’ Sherlock rumbled but stays glued to John, peering down at him through thick lashes.  
John grabs Sherlock’s hand and pulls him along. Barely hesitating at the door, he had never been in Sherlock’s bedroom. The bedrooms were the only private places either of them had.  
Well, no use in being prudish now. The heat wouldn’t allow for any of that soon enough. He pushes open the door and looks around curiously.

It's a mess.

He expected as much but it wasn’t a filthy mess. The (no doubt bazillion thread) sheets lay tousled on the king size bed, books strewn across the floor and the nightstand. The only thing that's orderly, immaculate even is Sherlock’s wardrobe. The room doesn't smell chemical, something John is secretly grateful for, no experiments hide in here. The room just looks and smells like the storm that is Sherlock.

Speaking of Sherlock, John couldn’t help but notice the red tinged cheeks. So he just smiles affectionately.  
‘Cozy.’  
Sherlock hastily kicks a few books under the bed in an (awful) attempt to tidy up.  
‘I didn’t expect you in here…’  
John softens even further in the light of a flustered Sherlock.  
‘It’s fine. It’s all fine. I just hope those sheets can be washed’ John jokes.

At Sherlock’s suspicious look, he sighs. ‘You know what’s going to happen right?’ Please don’t make me explain it.  
‘Of Course John I’m not an idiot.’  
‘Just checking if you know the difference between a bonding heat and a regular heat.’  
Sherlock huffs and splutteres and has the decency to look embarrassed.

Alright then, John decides to go with his doctor voice to get this over with as quickly as possible.  
‘A bonding heat can be just the same as a regular heat if and when the omega in question is bitten within a three day period before or during his normal heat. If this is not the case, it differs due to the body’s inability to properly prepare. In other words, there will be no ovulation so impregnation is impossible. The duration is much shorter and ranges from a couple of hours to a maximum of two days since the hormone production can only sustain itself for a short period of time without proper preparation and of course the lack of chemicals normally present during ovulation. It also causes the omega to only go in a superficial heat haze. This, evolutionary theorists believe, is not only caused by the lack of the right chemicals, but is also nature's way to ensure a possible escape or defence against an unwanted bonding. Self-lubrication is still possible and needed to assist in a knotting from an Alpha in a bonding rut, but possibly needs to be accompanied by additional lubrication. Access to water needs to be present at all times as during a regular heat. And intake as well as excretions need to be monitored because a bonding heat can lead to dehydration faster than a regular heat.’

‘Okay.’ Sherlock’s eyes don’t meet his and nervous teeth bite his lips, his gorgeously swollen lips. Time to get them back on track. John decides.  
‘Come here.’  
Sherlock complies and earns a chaste kiss for his troubles.  
‘Undress me?’ John requestes.

Now that put the detective in the right mindset again. John hardly spoke the words before fingers are sliding under John’s jumper and yanking it off.  
‘Eager are we?’ John can't help but tease.  
Sherlock grunts something incomprehensible.  
‘What was that?’ John jested.  
‘Jo-ohn, why do you have to ruin the moment?’ Sherlock huffs annoyed.  
John smirks evilly. ‘Am not.’  
‘I thought an omega in heat would be a little more cooperative.’ Sherlock whines.  
‘Yes well, you better get used to this. I’m not about to start acting like…’

‘Like what?’ Sherlock’s hands unbutton his shirt, taking his time studiously.  
Now it's John’s turn to blush. ‘Like I’m some whore.’ He mutters darkly, harshly reminded that this was the alpha-way of thinking. That an omega in need was just gagging to be knotted by any alpha near them.  
‘John.’ Sherlock’s hands still and wrap around John tenderly. ‘John, you’re not a whore. I didn’t mean to insinuate… I’m sorry… I don’t know... I’m not good at this John.’  
John shakes his head and leans up for a tender kiss. This is what he gets for not talking about it.  
He takes a big fortifying breath. ‘I love you you know.’

It is amazing to see the universe of emotions behind those glacial orbs. Sociopath indeed. How Sherlock ever though to get away with that John could never understand.  
Sherlock stares at him with big doe eyes. ‘Yes John. Always.’ He leans in, fingers of one hand cradling John’s head, a big thumb rubbing soothing circles in the sensitive place where his skull connects with his spine. The other hand patting at John's back. Light brushes of lips and the tip of his tongue wiggling along the seam of John’s lips. Caressing tongues meeting slowly, winding, retreating and coming back for more. Sherlock scoots closer, looming slightly. John stands on his tippy toes and cards his fingers through Sherlock’s luscious curls. Revelling in their silken feel. The kiss deepening even further and needy sounds fill the air in the seconds necessary to breath and finding a new angle.

‘John,’ It rolls like a prayer of Sherlock’s lips. ‘May I?’  
Somehow the rest of his shirt buttons had been opened and Sherlock’s hands roame questioningly around the edges of his shirt.  
John’s lips still tingle as he nods stupidly. ‘God yes.’

Sherlock’s fingertips trail the exposed bit of skin down to the waistband of John’s trousers and then his hands curl around his hips and slide back up. Passing over nipples on the way to John’s shoulders and help John shrug off the shirt.

Sherlock’s hands rests on John’s hips when John goes for Sherlock’s clothes. The fitted suit jacket flutters to the ground easily, the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt putting up more resistance and causing John to growl in frustration.  
Sherlock snorts at him.  
To hell with this then. John thinks and ripps the rest of the buttons off.  
‘Hey!’ Sherlock cries indignantly. ‘I liked that shirt.’  
‘Well I like you naked.’ John growles back.

Sherlock narrowes his eyes. ‘Well you won’t mind me doing this then.’ And in one fluid motion Sherlock rips John’s jeans. The button springing of to God knows where and the zipper forever ruined. Sherlock - of course - has the audacity to look quite pleased with himself.

‘Sherlock!’  
‘Oh please, no need to mourn that thing, I’m sure you can find another one just like it in the supermarket.’  
John makes a grab to return the favour but Sherlock easily dances out of the way.

‘What now? You don’t want me near your trousers?’ John mock poutes.  
Sherlock looks at him through narrowed eyes, and with a few deft movements unbuttons his own trousers. Making any further attacks from John pointless.  
‘Smart.’ John surrenders and Sherlock’s eyes light up. He steps close once more and pushes John down onto his bed. John, who goes quite willingly, leans back on his forearms and allows his legs to fall open.

Sherlock immediately rushes between those legs and hooks his fingers under the waistband of both John’s jeans and pants. His big hands pause and both thumbs stroke the slightly faded V-line that would guide Sherlock’s fingers right to where he was needed. He glances up at John, waiting for permission again.  
John holds his gaze steady and inclines his head. One more comforting stroke of those light fingertips and Sherlock makes short work of the offending garments. Settling back to slide them off, and with the help of John’s hips arching off the bed, John is naked.

John is naked.  
John is naked and glistening down there… because he is wet.  
A naked and wet John drenched in pheromones.  
Sherlock makes a kind of squeaky noise in the back of his throat and falls on his knees. His hands curling around John’s knees and pulls the source of that divine scent closer for inspection.

John gasps loudly when Sherlock buries his nose in the crook of John’s thigh. His moist breath parting way for a hot tongue swiping ever inward.

‘God John.’ Sherlock mutters. The taste hits the back of his throat, indescribable. The way John’s slick just coats his tongue and makes sure that taste will linger for what surely feels like days. And even that won’t be enough to sate him now that he has tasted… John, pure unadulterated John. Sherlock slants his eyes up and focusses on the dark cobalt gaze that’s fixated on him.

John is breathing loudly, breath coming in pants, the tip of his tongue just visible. Slowly he parts his legs. A silent request.

Sherlock all but purrs as he shifts his grip to tightly whine around John’s thigh, lifting until John got the picture and puts his legs on Sherlock’s shoulders.  
Sherlock strokes the inside of John’s thighs, caressing the junction between thigh and hip, scrapes his fingernails teasingly over his buttocks then roughly spreads them.  
Never one to dote over patience, Sherlock decides to just dive right in.

John’s hips twitch forward at the long swipe of a tongue licking up his crack, digging into the divot of his pucker and barely gliding over his perineum. Without stopping, it even glides all the way up to his cock pausing at the head. Sherlock flattens his tongue and roughly tongues John’s slit. Opening his lips to suckle him into his mouth. Very carefully he lets his teeth scrape over the sensitive skin there. John shudders and bucks.

Sherlock startles out of his blissful trance when John’s cock hits the back of his throat aided by the slick he has already lapped up.

‘Mmm… god Sherlock… fucking hell.’ John’s fists clench in the sheet and he desperately tries to still his hips when he hears Sherlock splutter slightly. He doesn’t really succeed, his hips trembling back and forth and Sherlock doesn’t fucking stop the light suction. And it isn’t enough, nowhere near enough and John burns. Those pink cupid-bow lips shivering up and down.

‘Sherlock, I can’t… fuck Sherlock!’ John pleads.

Sherlock let’s go, and that isn’t what John wants at all. Quickly his legs push Sherlock back where John is burning but alpha strength moves quicker.  
Sherlock growls a warning, his hands push John up and off him. John wimpers placatingly. But Sherlock shoves him on his front all the same. Sherlock’s forearm presses deliciously against John’s prick as he’s raised to his knees. A hand between his shoulder blades pushes him down simultaneously and stays there pressing, all the while Sherlock growls.

John’s omega relaxes and Sherlock's growls dissolve into harsh breaths that slow down.  
The hand disappears and is replaced by soft lips. ‘Sorry.’

‘Fine, it’s fine… Sherlock, don’t stop.’ John squirms against Sherlock’s forearm and pushes up higher, his back a steep angle.  
Sherlock snarls, grip his hips so John feels the prickle of his fingernails and dives for John’s slick. Licking roughly all around John’s pucker. Sherlock sounds utterly filthy and John can’t stop squirming, looking for friction, writing against Sherlock.

John howls when Sherlock’s tongue slides over and into his sensitive flesh, fast and unrelenting.  
‘Ah! Ah Sherlock!’ John’s abdomen contracts but he can’t come. Sherlock’s tongue curls in and he fucking slurps.  
‘Ah! Fuck…’  
God he want’s to come, but he can’t not even like this.

‘John…’ Sherlock’s hands knead John’s arse, without Sherlock’s lips there John feels the slide of his own slick trickling out. ‘You’re so open.’ There is wonder behind the lust in that voice. Sherlock stabs his tongue as deep as he can in quick succession and John just sobs. Mouth open and panting. The cushion under his head is damp.

‘John.’ Sherlock keens. ‘Tell me what you need.’  
‘Fuck Sherlock please… Just fuck me… Ah... please!’  
Sherlock chokes, grabs at John’s hips and pull him back. His hot cock slides up and down john’s crack and Sherlock whimpers and ruts while john claws feverently at the bed wishing for that hot length of iron to push in.

He get’s fingers instead. Fingers that wrigle and bend and scissor. Far further in then Sherlock’s tongue. They slide easily, John opening up for more than the mere two finger he is receiving.

‘Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!’ John can’t stop the sounds from escaping, just as he can’t stop the shivers or the way his hips push against those fingers.  
Fingers stroke against his inner walls, his cock, three now, maybe four, it’s hard to tell. Probing, pushing, stretching, looking, finding.  
‘MMMha… ha…………………. AH-H!’ John’s voice rises exponentially, shuddering so hard the bed quacks with him. Walls closing, sucking, trapping the fingers just there and he can’t, he just can’t.  
He cums, he think’s he’s cumming, is he still cumming? ‘Oh god.’

‘Fuck!’  
Sherlock janks his fingers out making John blubber in the pillow. Hands at hips, Sherlock’s fingers still moist. But John doesn’t register. John can only gasp breathless as Sherlock pushes in, in, in!

‘Ow f-... Ahnnn.’ Sherlock keens. Hips pound hard. The heat, the fucking suction. ‘Oh fuck, oh god, John, Johnnnn!’ His knot is too big, it won’t fit and he bounces back with every attempted shove. John wailes beneath him, out of pain or pleasure or both, Sherlock can’t tell but he hopes for pleasure ‘cause he won’t, can’t stop. He needs… that heat, needs to get in. He needs John, needs John! Closer he needs…

‘JOHN!!!!!’

Sherlock stills. His breath stops. His ears buzz at the whimpering of his mate, his John. Eyes wide.  
Locked inside John, comming spurt after spurt, Sherlock finds quiet. His brain filters through the chaos of rut and focusses on John. John in the throes of pleasure. More beautiful then he could have imagined. He loves him more than he ever thought possible. Flushed, cobalt lit up and sparkling with the tears that brim and cling to stained dark lashes. Gold skin gilded with sweat.His own name falling from reddening, swollen lips. The tip of that tongue just visible. Pheromones rising like steam, thick with John’s semen as it spurts out, calling to Sherlock, mingling, bondmates.

Sherlock cums.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writhing and posting my work. Should there be any mistakes, please tell me and i'll fix them. Also suggestions are welcome. Feel free to tell me what you think.


End file.
